Pretty Poison

“Let’s go inside and have some tea,” she suggested before she lost her temper.

Paul followed her into the kitchen. He sat down at the same table where he’d eaten as child. “What’s going on, Mom? You’ve never wanted a dog. Is that dude threatening you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She put the kettle on the stove. “I met Steve by chance. And I felt sorry for the poor dog. Just look at it.”

A loud crash made her run into the dining room. The dog was on top of the eight-foot table. A Waterford crystal bowl that had been in her family for five generations was shattered on the floor. She groaned, and the dog whined, moving close enough to lick her face. Then he jumped down and ran into the kitchen. Before she could get there, she heard another crash and Paul swearing.

“Get this damn dog off of me!”

The dog had made a running leap, knocking man and chair over. He was standing on top of Paul, wagging his tail and licking his face.

Peggy grabbed the leash and pulled the dog into the large pantry. She turned on the light and closed the door as the kettle started to whistle. “There now. Let’s have some tea.”

They sat beside each other, ignoring the dog’s plaintive whines from the pantry. Peggy sipped her orange peppermint tea and mentally tried to force her son to talk to her.

Paul sniffed the brew. “What is this?”

“Tea. I mixed it myself.”

He pushed the cup away. “I’m not really thirsty, thanks anyway. Mom, you don’t realize what it’s like in the real world. You’ve got your little shop and your students. It seems safe. But that dead man in your shop should be a warning to you. There are people out there who could take advantage of you. You’re a helpless widow with some money and a big house. Lots of men would like to get their hands on you.”

Peggy stifled her laughter. He was serious. He was always serious. “I appreciate what you’re trying to tell me. I always try to be careful.”

“Really? Is that why Al called me from the county lockup to tell me you sneaked in to see a man accused of murder? I don’t call that trying to be careful.”

She tried to be tolerant. She knew how hard his father’s death was on him. But she was only going to take so much. “Paul, I’ve been in this world a long time. I think I can handle myself.”

“Mom—”

“Drink your tea, Paul. It’s good for you.”

He took a sip and made a face. “You can’t help your homeless friend, you know. They found all of Warner’s stuff in his backpack. He was wearing Warner’s shoes, for Christ’s sake! He stripped them off of a dead man. Case closed.”

“All I’ve done is found him a lawyer,” she explained. “But just because he was cold doesn’t mean he killed the man. What was his motive? He can get free shoes at the shelter.”

“I never knew you had such a soft heart.” Paul smiled and shook his head. “First a homeless man, then a dog. What’s next?”

Peggy got up and put her arms around him. “Don’t you remember the one-legged frog we found in the backyard that summer? We took him away from a black snake who wanted him for lunch. We kept him alive by catching flies and tying strings on them so he could eat them. I’ve always had a soft heart, honey. It’s not going to change now.”

“I guess you’re right. And I’m sorry. I’m overreacting because I feel guilty leaving you here all alone. I want things to be different between us from now on.”

“Because I can’t take care of myself?”

He kissed her cheek. “No. Because I love you.”

“I love you, too. You know this will always be your home, too.”

“I can’t move back in, Mom. Thanks for offering. I might be seeing someone. I’d like you to meet her, if things work out.”

Peggy took a deep breath. That was close! “I’d love to. Just let me know when.”

She watched Paul leave, waving to him from the doorway. This was a good thing. She didn’t want him to live with her again, but she wanted their relationship to be closer. She heard a loud thump from the pantry and ran back into the kitchen.

The dog managed to knock down a ten-pound bag of white flour. He was covered in it. She looked up at the shelf. It was a good five feet off the floor. It seemed impossible that he could reach it. But the proof was standing in front of her, a ghost dog with a large, dopey grin and a wagging tail.

“I really didn’t want to live with you either,” she scolded him. “But we’re stuck with each other until I find your owner.”

The dog barked and wagged his tail even harder, showering everything in the pantry with flour. Peggy sighed and dragged him to the big sink in the laundry room. Getting him into it was a whole other thing. By the time she was finished with him, she was covered in flour and only half of the dog was really clean.

Deciding they both needed some exercise, Peggy put on her gardening clothes and gloves. She found a rope, attached it to the dog’s collar, then tied it to the porch. He bounced around on the grass until he came to the end of his tether. Then he whined and stared at her as she started in on separating her wood crocus bulbs.

While her backyard was an experimental garden, her front yard was as normal as any of her neighbors’. There was a huge circular bulb bed set to bloom according to the various seasons. The little wood crocuses were always the first in spring. Their purple heads peeked shyly from under the brown dirt while there was still ice on the